


Lamb of God

by petitlionhomme



Category: Mumintroll | Moomins Series - Tove Jansson
Genre: Altar Boy Snufkin, Demon Joxter, Extended Metaphors, M/M, Metaphors, Priest Joxter, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-26
Updated: 2019-07-26
Packaged: 2020-07-20 07:47:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19988605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/petitlionhomme/pseuds/petitlionhomme
Summary: Snufkin is disobedient and insolent while Joxter just wants to save his soul from damnation.





	Lamb of God

**Author's Note:**

> Heed the warnings and tags, and comments are very much appreciated.

Snufkin knew he wasn’t the most obedient, he very rarely followed the rules but he knew the words to all of the hymns, even if there was dirt trailing along the bottom of his robes, and he didn’t like wearing shoes (preferring socks that often trailed leaves and mud through the church’s halls).

It was why he’d snuck out into the cathedral, he felt safe there in the moonlight that streamed in through the stained glass windows, there were murals of angels upon the ceiling and a large, golden cross upon the front and center of the pulpit.

Despite his general lack of most proper things, he was still a firm believer of God, knew that He was the reason Snufkin even had a home here in the church, and as an altar boy, he was always thankful for that. 

“Out of bed? Such a naughty boy.” 

Looking over his shoulder, Snufkin was met with the sight of the head priest, Joxter. He was an odd man, but devout in his worship. He raised an eyebrow and Snufkin pouted, hand instinctively going to fiddle with the rosary that hung around his neck.

“Father Joxter, I didn’t expect you to be out of bed..” Snufkin turned around and looked up, the man’s eerie blue eyes almost seemed to glow in the limited light. 

The priest laughed softly, and it relaxed Snufkin a little to see he wasn’t angry with him. 

“I came here to pray, and I assume that’s why you’re here as well?” He walked closer and ruffled his hair, though his hand lingered, and Snufkin could have swore his eyes flashed red but he did  _ not _ swear, not one to use the name of God in vain.

His hand tightened around his crucifix and Joxter hummed a hymn under his breath,  _ Lamb Of God _ , and the song sent shivers up the boy’s spine. Something was wrong but he could not place it, he just knew vaguely that if he stayed any longer, something would  _ happen. _

“Father, I think I should be off to bed.” Snufkin rushed the words out and went to walk past when Joxter grabbed his shoulder gently and spun him back around, a look of confusion carefully crafted onto his face.

“Have you prayed yet? As you intended?” 

Snufkin wasn’t scared, Father Joxter was a patient man, he followed the Holy Book to the letter, but he could not shake the feeling of foreboding that carved its way into his chest.

“I will pray in my room, before I rest.” He sniffed, and there was something sweet, right beneath the usual smell of the church, Father Joxter’s cologne, perhaps? 

“Pray with me.” 

The words were gentle but there was something strangely threatening about them, a feeling of unease creeping into Snufkin’s stomach that made him feel sick. 

Hesitantly nodding in agreement, they knelt together behind one of the pews, Father Joxter speaking louder than Snufkin as they both prayed aloud.

“And dear Father in Heaven, I ask that you forgive me,” Snufkin slowly lapsed into confused silence, because now even the moonlight was nonexistent, the room felt colder, and Joxter’s eyes were no longer closed but opened and gleaming red.

“For the defilement I will lay upon his boy-child, this little misguided  _ sheep _ ..” 

They locked eyes and Snufkin tried to run, but the night gown he wore proved to be against him as he was dragged back by it and into Father Joxter- no, this  _ creature’s  _ lap.

He buried his nose in Snufkin’s hair and he could smell his sweet youth, his pure soul, untainted even though he was an unruly child. The boy fought, kicking and scratching, but he was weak, and his body would tire the more he fought. 

“Let me go! Father Muddler!” 

A hand was slapped over his mouth, muffling his screams as Joxter pressed his lips to Snufkin’s neck, kissing up to his ear where he softly spoke, voice sounded as it was multiplied, not simply one person.

“Hush, little boy, or I will carve you open and crucify you like the son of your Savior.” When Snufkin didn’t stop, his free hand gripped Snufkin’s neck and proceeded to squeeze, elongated nails drawing blood and cutting off air. The sound of his choking brought a sick thrill to the demon, as that was his  _ true  _ self, and he pressed the boy down harder into his lap.

Snufkin went still, eyes widening as dread filled him. Joxter was both hot and cold.

Hot where he sat in his lap but his hand was cold around his neck, which he was now letting go in favor of feeling his hand up Snufkin’s gown.

The boy was thin, almost malnourished, he could feel his ribs beneath the thin layer of skin and fat, there barely any muscle to atone for on his petite frame. 

He would break beneath Joxter’s hands if he was too rough, split in half,  _ die on his cock  _ if he was too riled up.

The very thought of if was disgusting, the demon flinched inwardly but he could not deny the very  _ idea  _ of it was interesting. 

Snufkin was shivering, both from cold and from fear when the demon spoke, voice reverberating loudly in the silence of the room. 

“You are not a very good altar boy, you are insolent and outspoken.” His hand slipped up the boy’s thigh and he started to try to fight again, clawing at the hand around his mouth when a seemingly invisible force slammed his arms to his sides and squeezed.

“And though I am a demon, I am thankful for my forgiving Father..” He pressed a kiss to the back of Snufkin’s neck, inhaling the smell of fear deeply.

His soul was so sweet, it spilled into his very aura, he was both foolish for allowing it and idealistic prey. 

“I will do this for Him, make a  _ good boy  _ out of you.” He ripped Snufkin’s gown, enough to expose his thighs and bottom and stomach, thankful that he’d restrained him or else he would have kicked him in the face.

Pushing the boy onto his back, he noted the tears in his eyes, how he shook and jolted with silent sobs.

Joxter’s glowing eyes looked like hellfire, he was sure that though he’d never seen the devil, this is what he must look like, handsome and deadly and sick.

“I wonder what boys like you are made of.” Joxter asked, pressing his nose to Snufkin’s stomach, cold lips pressing against his skin almost reverently.

“I.. Have lived a long life, but still I wonder, what little boys are made of. The insolent ones, that is, the quiet and sweet ones, oh those ones..” He did not continue and it was enough to leave a cold stake of fear in his heart.

Staring at the ceiling, Snufkin knew there was some irony, that he should see the very faces of Michael, Gabriel and Raphael as what he considered  _ pure  _ and  _ chaste  _ was stolen from him by the hands of a creature not meant to live in this world.

As he bled, as he hurt, Snufkin also began to wonder what boys like him were made of. 

Was it autumn leaves and mud? Holy water made for purification and dove feathers? Blood and vomit?

What were boys like him made of?

He did not know, and the panting demon did not give him an answer, and neither did the angels on the ceiling, and neither did God.

In a church, Snufkin felt his resolve break, because he’d done it all right, hadn’t he? He prayed, he sung, he cried and gave all that he could to his Savior, and in return, he was given defilement.

The smell of Snufkin’s soul took on a more acidic smell, and Joxter purred, the shadow of wings splayed on the wall behind him.

He’d fixed him.

Joxter considered himself a kind man, and a gentle demon, which is why he did not leave Snufkin to lay in a small puddle of his own blood and the tattered remains of his night gown.

Instead, he used the basin of holy water ( _ yes,  _ he could touch it, he resided in a church after all) to clean his skin, and he shushed him when he cried, pressed kisses to his temple when he flinched, and his eyes were blue again.

As if it had never happened.

“We never finished our prayer.” Joxter said as he fixed his robes, and clasped the crucifix around his throat.

Snufkin stared at him, eyes hollow and dead, and Joxter sighed. He hugged him to his chest, kissed the top of his head and spoke for the both of them.

“Dear Father in Heaven, forgive us, for we have committed an act of atrocity within the hallowed walls of this church,”  _ we,  _ as if Snufkin had asked him to do such a thing.

“Forgive us, I only acted as I know you would have wanted me to, as a way to save this boy from a path of self destruction and heartache.. Amen.”

Joxter, now again a man of holiness and devout faith, lead Snufkin to his bedroom with three other boys, kissed him hard on the mouth as a goodbye, and left as quickly as he appeared.

“Another boy, saved..” Joxter tutted, the smell of sin that filled the church making his eyes glow and his shadow cast him with horns and a tail. 

Soon, he would purify this whole church. 


End file.
